Fortune's Blade
by Tesekian
Summary: When a boy from Gondor does something foolish, he ends up in an adventure beyond his dreams. Contains violence and torture. FINISHED!!! Please read and review
1. Sal's Folly

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or anything connected to it. Salafir is mine, but nothing else here.  
  
Author's note: This is just the introduction, it will get exciting later on. I hope. Please review.  
  
***  
  
Metal clanked against metal as Salafir shifted in the bed. He stared up at the stone ceiling, his mind blank and his feelings desolate. In his memory, he heard again the mocking tones of his friend Bergil.  
  
"Are you a coward?" If only Bergil had kept his teasing to himself. This was all his fault, Salafir thought angrily.  
  
He sighed. He knew it wasn't really, but it helped ease his feelings to blame it on Bergil. Still, he knew that it didn't really matter that Bergil's words had goaded him into actions. He was the one who had acted, and therefore was the one responsible.  
  
He shifted again on the hard bed in the cold cell, and the chains that held his wrists and ankles clanged together. He wondered how long he had been in here. A day, perhaps more. Sal had no way of telling how much time had passed, as the only window was a small grill in the door, looking out on a guarded corridor. He also wondered how long they intended to keep him here. What he didn't wonder about was what they would do to him. He knew that. Death was the only penalty for the crime he had committed. Sal just wished they would hurry up and bring it.  
  
***  
  
He awoke as he heard footsteps outside and pushed himself into a sitting position. The door opened and in came a guard in the silver and black uniform of the citadel guard.  
  
"You are to come before the king," the guard announced solemnly, and Sal nodded. He had expected no less. So he stood up, and walked out of the cell willingly, but hampered by the chains he wore. He considered running, as the guard led him out into the evening light of the city, but there was nowhere to run to. The only home he had ever known was Minas Tirith. Then there were his parents. They would be dishonoured enough by his actions, he wouldn't add to their shame by running away. He would face his penalty bravely and proudly.  
  
Now he just needed to convince his limbs of that to stop them shaking.  
  
He walked through the streets of the city towards the citadel, glad that they were so quiet, late into the evening. A few figures stopped to watch as the guard led him past, but he looked away, ashamed. He thought he caught a glimpse of Bergil out of the corner of his eye, but didn't turn to see if it was really him. He hoped Bergil wouldn't be too hard on himself about this. But there was still the part of him that wanted to blame Bergil, despite knowing in his mind it wasn't so.  
  
The guard gave the password as they approached the gateway to the citadel and the gate opened. Sal walked slowly through the gate, seeing the white tree that stood in the centre of court. The symbol of all that the king had done, and all that Sal had forgotten the night of his foolishness.  
  
As he entered the throne room, he looked up at the king who sat on his throne. Mighty and majestic as the legends of his deeds. Sal found his eyes caught by the grey eyes and couldn't look away. Shame burned his face as the thoughts of his actions filled his mind. This man could kill an army of orcs on his own, and Sal had forgotten that in his folly.  
  
His limbs shook as he stood there, finally able to look away and cast his eyes down in shame. In the silence, Sal waited for the death blow that he had earned. Inside the king spoke.  
  
"Why?" he asked.  
  
"Foolishness," Sal replied simply, he felt even more foolish now he had to explain his actions. "A friend and he were discussing your quest. My friend said that you must have such good fortune, and that even a lock of your hair would be a token of great fortune. He suggested, in jest, that I should try and take a piece and called me a coward when I refused. He only meant it in fun, but his words stung me." Sal knew it was no excuse, and that his reason sounded even more foolish aloud than when he thought of it. "I am sorry," Sal said, "I meant no harm." There was another silence, and Sal felt the king's eyes bore into him, but didn't dare look up.  
  
"What is your friend's name?"  
  
"The deed was mine, not his," Sal replied, "please do not give him any blame for what I did."  
  
"His name!"  
  
"Bergil, son of Beregond." Sal felt his shame growing, that he had unwittingly included his friend in his folly. Whatever punishment was to be given to him, Bergil had done no more than tease him in a way all boys did.  
  
"Please, he hasn't done anything wrong," Sal insisted, "I beg you, do not punish him in any way."  
  
"You beg for the sake of another but not for yourself?" King Elessar smiled slightly as he spoke, though Sal couldn't guess at what.  
  
"Bergil has done nothing. What I did, I did on my own in my own foolishness."  
  
"You admit to your guilt freely, knowing the penalty for lifting a weapon to your king?"  
  
"Yes," Sal replied, though his voice trembled as he spoke. He found his gaze once more caught in that of the king and felt as though King Elessar could see right through him to the very weaknesses of his soul. Then the king raised his eyes and signalled to the guard who still stood at the door to take Sal away.  
  
Sal was led through corridors in a trance. He didn't know where he was being taken, nor did he care. It didn't matter any more. Judgement had been passed, any time Sal had left was just an interlude before the sentence was carried out. He barely paid any attention as the guard removed the chains, and locked him in a room different from the cell he had been taken from. He just sank down on the bed and closed his eyes, for what would probably be his last night alive. 


	2. The Punishment Begins

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I've taken the advice about the summary, and changed it. If you were desperate for more after the first part, I dread to think how you'll be after this one.  
  
***  
  
It was still dark when Sal was shaken awake the next morning. He saw that clean clothes had been laid out for him, and a good breakfast of porridge and bread sat on a table. His last meal? He ate it hungrily, knowing he might as well enjoy the last pleasures he was offered.  
  
"Hurry now!" the guard ordered, gesturing to the clothes that lay ready, before leaving him to change. Sal was glad to change out of the clothes he had been wearing since the night of his folly. He had barely finished dressing when the door opened again and the guard ordered him out. He was surprised that he wasn't put in chains again, but even so he doubted he would be able to escape if he tried.  
  
The sky was beginning to lighten in the east as they went outside and across the courtyard towards the gate. Sal wondered where he was being taken. If he was being taken out into the city, it would mean people would watch as he was killed. His parents would be shamed publicly. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them back. There was no sense in crying over what could not be stopped.  
  
Sal soon discovered their destination, as he was led to the stables near the seventh gate of the city. Horses and ponies were being made ready for a journey, and Sal was almost certain there had been a mistake. Why would they bring him here? A tall man crossed to Sal from where he was saddling a bay horse.  
  
"Do you ride?" he asked.  
  
"I can, but I haven't ridden often," Sal replied, then realised who it was he was talking to, "your majesty."  
  
"You will fair well on Star," the king replied, indicating the horse he had been saddling. Sal was filled with wonder that King Elessar would be performing this task himself, instead of giving it to the grooms. Sal stood alone in the stable door, and looked at the other occupants of the stable. A man with blond hair was talking to a small boy by a grey pony. Then Sal looked closer, and saw the pointed ears. That was no man, but an elf! And the boy was not a boy at all, but a small man! A halfling! There were others in the stable, that moved in and out of view among the horses. Another halfling, and a being who was certainly a dwarf.  
  
Whatever punishment was being prepared, Sal thought it was worth it to have been given this chance to see the beings, who were almost certainly the legendary companions of the king during the Great War.  
  
"Come," King Elessar said, as he finished his task. He held the reins of Star out to Sal, then went to take the reins of his own horse. The group gathered in the stables led the horses and ponies out to mount in the yard outside. Sal was able to see clearly who was there. The elf mounted a horse that bore no saddle or reins, and the dwarf clambered clumsily up behind him. The two halflings rode on sturdy ponies, and the king rode before the company as they made their way at a steady walk through the empty streets of the city.  
  
They cantered from the gates of Minas Tirith, the eastern sky blazing gold. When dawn came suddenly, directly in front of the small company, Sal knew they were heading towards Mordor. That name still filled him with dread, even though the dark lord had been destroyed for years. His fear had been put aside briefly by the wonderment at seeing these living legends, but now it returned. He was being taken to the land of nightmares.  
  
"Hello," Sal broke from his thoughts to see that one of the halflings had ridden up to his side. His little pony was keeping pace with the horses surprisingly well. Sal guessed they must be from Rohan.  
  
"Hello," Sal responded, not certain how he should react to this cheerful- looking fellow. Didn't he know what Sal had done?  
  
"I'm Pippin," the halfing said.  
  
"Salafir, but most people call me Sal."  
  
"Strider says you know Bergil," Pippin said.  
  
"Strider?"  
  
"King Elessar. When we first met he was in disguise, going by the name Strider and so we've called him Strider ever since." Sal couldn't imagine anyone calling King Elessar a name so derogatory.  
  
"Do you know Bergil?" Pippin repeated his question.  
  
"Yes, and he's always boasting of his friendship with Peregrin Took. I never knew how much to believe of it."  
  
"Oh, we are friends," Pippin confirmed, "when I came to Minas Tirith in the war, I was lonely, so he showed me the city." Pippin went on to talk of those last days of the war. Sal had spent those days in Tumladen with his mother, with no way of knowing what was happening in the city and fearing each day for his father, who was a soldier in the army of Gondor. He told Pippin so, and soon they were talking as though they had been friends all their lives. Sal almost forgot the fear that had been weighing him down.  
  
They stopped at midday for some food. Sal felt isolated as the other members of the company talked cheerfully of pasts they had shared, or at least knew something of.  
  
"How is Sam?" King Elessar asked the two halflings.  
  
"He's well," the other halfling, Merry, replied, "but Rose is pregnant again and he didn't think he could leave her."  
  
"Give them my congratulations," King Elessar said. "And what of you, Pippin, I gather there are similar congratulations due to you soon?"  
  
Pippin laughed, "You learn things before I do. Diamond only told me she suspected she was pregnant. Even she didn't know for certain."  
  
"You will have a fine son." Sal wondered how he could be so sure, but didn't dare ask. "We should probably continue."  
  
The company stood up, and King Elessar went to repack the saddlebags they'd opened for the food. Sal noticed something in one of the saddlebags that didn't fit. It was a long, thin object, wrapped in cloth, that stuck out from the bag. As King Elessar shifted the object to make room in the bag, the cloth slipped slightly and metal glinted in the sunlight. The hilt of a sword.  
  
***  
  
They rode on until sunset, and the sky burned red. Sal was tired, having been awake since before dawn, and was grateful when King Elessar said they should make camp. They had crossed the Anduin, and stopped beneath a grove of trees in Ithilien with a small stream nearby. Sal noticed again the sword that King Elessar bore, until the king covered it completely with the cloth. He placed it down carefully, and the company unburdened the horses, putting the bags at the base of a tall oak.  
  
Legolas tended the horses, while the halflings drank at the stream. Sal stood uncertainly by. None of them were on the alert for the attack. None of them suspected. King Elessar straightened from where he was bending over their gear, the instant an arrow hit where his head had been.  
  
A moment later orcs leapt from the trees. The company were in a frenzy, seizing weapons in order to defend against this sudden attack. Sal, unarmed and defenceless, dodged a blow from an orc sword, diving out of the way. He hit the ground hard beside their bags, and reached wildly for anything with which to block the death strokes of the orc. His hand reached fumbling in cloth, met the metal hilt of the sword.  
  
There were cries and shouts from around him as the rest of the company fought the orcs. There was a clash of steel as Sal brought up the sword to block the orc's. He scrambled to his feet to be better positioned to fight. He blocked blow after blow, trying to remember what little training he had been given. It could only have been a few moments, when he didn't deflect a blow enough, and the sword scraped his arm. It felt as though the blade were red hot, and fire seared down his arm from the cut. He managed to thrust his own sword into the orc's chest before he stumbled, his legs going weak.  
  
It was just a scratch, he told himself, already defending against another orc. Shadows were growing across his vision as his legs gave in and he fell to the ground. He saw the orc raising its sword to kill him, when the word went dark. The poison on the blade had done its work.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Hee hee. I'm evil. You'll have to hang on 'til next time to find out what happens to him. 


	3. In the Wake of Battle

Author's note: I couldn't leave you long after that cliffhanger. Here you go.  
  
***  
  
The first thing Sal was aware of was the burning pain in his arm. On instinct, he tried to lash out at his attacker, bringing his good arm round to strike, but a strong hand caught it.  
  
"Peace, you are among friends." Sal snapped fully conscious and realised that King Elessar was kneeling by his side, cleaning the wound in his arm. It was only a shallow graze, but it was swollen and red. Blood seeped from the cut even as King Elessar tried to stop it. Suddenly queasy, Sal leaned to one side and emptied his stomach on the ground.  
  
He was ashamed that he should be so weak at the sight of his own blood, and apologised.  
  
"No need," the king said, "the blade was poisoned, you are fortunate to even be alive." Sal tried to sit up, and felt the king's hands supporting his back. They weren't in the same place as they had been when the orcs attacked, and the sun was now high in the sky. How long had he been unconscious?  
  
The rest of the company seemed uninjured, except for a graze across Pippin's cheek. Somehow they had all come through the attack alive. Sal looked at the king. With blood and dirt smeared on his face, his hair hanging in greasy strands and orc blood staining his clothes, he certainly looked more like Strider than the great King Elessar. He bound up the cut on Sal's arm with clean cloths, pronouncing that he would live.  
  
"Why?" Sal asked, summoning up the courage at last. "The penalty for lifting a weapon against the king is death. Why did you not just let me die?"  
  
"Do you want to die?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then do not complain. There is no sense in killing when a more productive punishment is available. Perhaps you shall die before this work in finished, perhaps not. We shall both have to see when the time comes." Sal knew that the conversation was over, but still wasn't satisfied. He had no idea what the punishment was to be, or why they were making this journey. All he knew was that there was a chance he wouldn't die. For the first time since he had been found in the king's chamber, bearing a dagger, Sal had hope.  
  
The king stood, and went to look at Pippin's graze, but he didn't need to do anything for that. Gimli sat, sharpening his axe, while Legolas was sorting arrows in his quiver. Even Sal could tell that some were orc arrows, but most were the elegant arrows the elves used. The two halflings sat talking, and King Elessar sat down beside the, drawing his sword and proceeding to clean it. Sal felt alone as he watched these friends. He didn't belong with this company, but for some reason the king though he should come.  
  
With nowhere else to look, his gaze fell on the ground. The sword he had seized in desperation lay by his feet. It was sheathed again, and Sal wondered why it was there. Why hadn't the king wrapped it again? A terrible thought occurred to Sal, that perhaps the sword had been for a special purpose, perhaps a gift, and Sal had ruined it by wielding it in battle. He hadn't seen any other option at the time, but still he felt guilty if he had ruined the king's plans, as he had ruined his own life through folly.  
  
He stared at the sword. It was finely crafted, with a clear stone set in the hilt. Sal frowned, as it looked as though there was something in the stone. It was probably just something underneath the sword, being distorted by the stone. Finally, curiosity overcame him, and he picked up the sword. No one said anything. Either King Elessar didn't notice, or he didn't mind. Sal looked at the stone, and saw that there was indeed something in it. A dark strand of hair. The irony of it made him smile, that he had sought a lock of hair from the king, and had taken one without realising it.  
  
He glanced up to where King Elessar was talking with the halflings, before drawing the sword. He knew he was likely to be punished for this, but for some reason he needed to. The blade was straight and narrow, engraved with symbols he didn't understand, but guessed from their shape to be elven. He ran his fingers along the writing, wishing he knew what it meant.  
  
Suddenly a shadow passed between him and the sun. Sal looked up fearful, as the king stared down on him. He was black against the light, and Sal couldn't see what expression his face was showing, but guessed it to be anger.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, putting the sword aside. King Elessar crouched down beside him, picking up the sword again, his face showing kindness rather than anger.  
  
"Beware of your curiosity," he said, "it can be dangerous." Sal might have imagined it, but he thought the king glanced towards the halflings as he spoke. Then he smiled, and placed the sword in Sal's hands again. "There are other more certain dangers ahead of us, and you will need a weapon."  
  
"Thank you," Sal managed to say, surprised and delighted to be granted such a fine gift. The king stood and turned away. Looking at the thing he held in his hands, he found the courage to ask, "What does the writing mean?" No sooner had he asked, than he realised he was giving in to curiosity, just as he had been warned not to only moments before. But the king wasn't angry about this either.  
  
"Fortune," he replied, and again Sal wondered at the irony of it. It was almost as if the sword had been made in response to his desire for a lock of the king's hair. He looked closer at the stone, and saw that the hair was the same colour as the king's. But that was impossible. This sword must have been made long before Bergil made his suggestion.  
  
Still, he could imagine that this sword had been made for him. That he had been given his token of fortune, even though he knew it could not be so.  
  
***  
  
They did not move on again until the following day, as the king didn't think Sal was recovered enough. Sal had to deal with his feelings of guilt, that by simply being there he was ruining the king's plans. But the king didn't seem to blame him, so Sal soon put those fears aside.  
  
Merry decided to cheer Sal up, but telling him all about how he had received worse injuries during his first battle. Pippin joined him and together they told Sal of the fights and battles of their quest, careful to explain just how poorly they had fought. For Sal it seemed incredible that these two, famous heroes in Gondor, should admit to such failings, but their talks had the desired affect and Sal was soon laughing with them, forgetting about his own wound. The two halflings spoke often of Frodo, with more respect than they spoke of each other. When they spoke, it was always of his doing in the quest, not of what he was doing now.  
  
"Why didn't Frodo come?" Sal asked.  
  
"He. he went into the west with the elves," Pippin said sadly, and Sal cursed his curiosity. The king certainly knew what he was talking about. Sal had brought sadness to these two by reminding them of something painful. But soon they were laughing again. The loss of their friend, though still painful, was one they had grown used to.  
  
"We should rest now," King Elessar said, as the sun sank towards the west, "we shall need to rise early." He then proceeded to appoint watches. Sal wasn't given one. Whether it was because of his wound, or because the king didn't trust him, he wasn't sure.  
  
They all lay to sleep, taking turns to sit on watch and look into the inky blackness surrounding their camp. But even Legolas with his elven sight couldn't see the figures in the trees, and even the sharp ears of the halflings didn't pick up the sound of the footsteps that went past. Through the night, the company slept on peacefully, unaware of those watching from the shadows, all armed for battle and alert for the trespassing of their enemies.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I couldn't bring myself to kill Sal in the second chapter. I may not feel the same about killing him later, but you'll just have to wait and see about that. 


	4. In Ithilien

They were preparing to move on again the next morning, when suddenly both King Elessar and Legolas spun to face the trees. Legolas had his bow out and an arrow on the string in a flash, and King Elessar drew Anduil from its sheath.  
  
"Show yourself!" King Elessar commanded sharply. From the trees emerged a tall man, dressed in green, his face covered with a green mask. A bow was slung over his back and a sword hung by his side. Sal reached for the hilt of the sword the king had given him. He might not be much good in battle, but he would at least stand by the king's side to make up for what he had done.  
  
"Who are you?" the king demanded.  
  
"I am Ralthorn, Ranger of Ithilien." King Elessar sheathed his sword, waving a hand at Legolas, who put his bow away again.  
  
"You need to practice, Ralthorn," King Elessar said, "A Ranger must walk unheard." Sal thought he'd done a very good job of walking unheard as it was. The king must have very sharp ears. "What is your purpose?"  
  
"Captain Faramir's orders are that all Rangers are to be on the watch for intruders in Ithilien."  
  
"I would hardly consider myself an intruder in my own land," King Elessar replied. Sal could see the realisation fill the Ranger's face, followed by fear. He wondered if he had looked like that in the stables.  
  
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said with a hurried bow.  
  
"Take us to your captain," King Elessar ordered, ignoring the apology.  
  
"Yes, Your Majesty."  
  
***  
  
Sal knew of Ithilien as a peaceful place, and beautiful. He agreed that it was beautiful as they rode at a slow walk behind the Ranger. But the place he led them didn't seen right for a place supposedly at peace. It was a place larger than a village, but not quite large enough to be called a town. The houses themselves were homes that looked cheerfully on small streets. But around the settlement was a strong stone wall with a heavy gate, guards upon the ramparts. As they passed through the gates, Sal looked carefully at the walls to discover that they were new. They must have been built within the last year, whereas the houses themselves had been dwelt in for longer than that.  
  
A large building was in the centre of the settlement and a man was waiting at the door to welcome them. Sal recognised him, though he had only seen him at a distance, and not for several years. Faramir son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. He bowed low as the king dismounted, then the two grasped hands as old friends.  
  
"Welcome to Ithilien, sire," Faramir said, "Do you require refreshment?"  
  
"I'm sure my companions will welcome it, but you and I must speak first."  
  
So when grooms had taken their mounts, and they had been taken to a private room, the king left with Faramir. A large amount of food had been laid out for them. Sal ate greedily, though he was pleased to see even he could not match the halflings in their appetites. It amazed him how much they ate, considering their size.  
  
When Sal had finally had enough he sat down on a comfortable chair next to Merry and Pippin who were still nibbling. 'Filling up the gaps' they called it. Sal thought about the orc attack and the new fortifications that had been built. The Rangers had been alert in the woodlands. This was a land preparing for war, not the peaceful country it was reputed to be.  
  
"Why have we come here?" Sal asked.  
  
It was Merry who replied, as Pippin had his mouth full. "Strider didn't tell you?"  
  
"No. I know it must be dangerous, not just because of the orcs, but King Elessar said so himself when he gave me the sword. And it must be important, for the king to come himself and to summon you together. But I don't know what it is."  
  
"If Strider hasn't told you," Merry said, "it's probably better that we don't." Sal sighed. He didn't feel he could ask the king, especially after his comment about curiosity.  
  
"Has he told you why he wanted me on this journey?" Sal asked.  
  
"He only said that he needed someone who wasn't involved before," Pippin said, "and that you fitted his requirements." Involved with what, Sal wondered. The quest? Almost anyone in Gondor would be a candidate and surely there was someone more suited to the task than he. Whatever the task turned out to be.  
  
When the king returned, his face was pale and drawn. Sal guessed he had been shocked by his discussion with Faramir. The members of the Fellowship noticed too, and watched him intently, expecting him to speak, but the king's mind was elsewhere, and his eyes didn't seem to see those gathered round him.  
  
"I'd hoped I was mistaken," he muttered to himself. Then he became aware of the others, and turned to the halflings. "Merry, Pippin," he said, "there is grave danger ahead. You don't have to come, I'll understand if."  
  
"We're coming," the halflings interrupted together.  
  
The king smiled, and the drawn look fled, "I had expected as much." Then, to everyone's surprise, especially Sal's, he turn to him, "Salafir, you are no soldier, little more than a boy. I would not order you into the danger that we others must face."  
  
Part of Sal wanted to seize this opportunity with both hands. This was probably his only chance to get out of this alive and safe. But there was another part that knew the only honourable way was to accept the challenge. The king must have seen his hesitation.  
  
"It will be no mark of dishonour on you if you stay here. What lies ahead many men would fear to face, and will not take you if you are unwilling."  
  
Sal heard his words, but the part that wanted to stay was still being overwhelmed by the other part. He took a deep breath, and pronounced his own doom. "My life is forfeit for lifting a weapon against my king, you have said so yourself. I would be a coward to turn away from the fate I chose for myself. If I am charged with death, I would rather die at the side of my king, for the sake of Gondor, than return home and live a life granted out of mercy I have not earned."  
  
In the silence that followed, Sal looked into the face of the king, not wanted to see how the others looked at him. He was certain they were looking at him with disgust on learning of his crime, and so didn't see the respect in each of their faces.  
  
"You have courage, Salafir," King Elessar said at last, "If you wish to serve me you may do so. May you wield fortune well against the evil we travel to face." He turned to leave, when Sal asked the question he had been dreading to ask since they had left Minas Tirrith.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"To Mordor."  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Not very good as far as cliffhangers go, but it seemed a good place to stop. 


	5. The Last Stage of the Journey

It was two days before the company set out again. Faramir was going with them, and he needed to make sure affairs were in order in the town. It gave the king time to check Sal's arm was healing. The cut was still painful, but the king said it was healing well and there were no longer any signs of the poison. The king also took the time to give Sal some more training in fighting. He'd learned a little in Minas Tirrith, as most boys did, but he wasn't very good.  
  
After an exhausting hour of parries and thrusts, Sal sank into a chair in the room he had been given, wondering what Bergil would think if he knew Sal was being trained by the king. Sal couldn't believe his fortune. A few days ago he thought he was going to be sentenced to death. Now, he was still likely to die, but at least it would be a noble death.  
  
The morning they sat out was overcast. It was also dark, as again they set out early, and the only hint of the sun was a slight lightening of the sky over the eastern horizon. Silently, they rode north through Ithilien, towards the black gates of Mordor. Sal tried not to think about what was ahead, about the death he was almost certainly facing. But with nothing to distract him but the rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground, he couldn't help thinking of it.  
  
The only distraction came a little before noon, and that only increased Sal's fear. They rode through an area of woodland that had been destroyed. Trees had been slashed down and bushes torn apart. It looked as though fire had burned what remained.  
  
"What happened here?" Sal asked, looking round.  
  
"Battle," Faramir replied, "Many good men died here."  
  
They rode through without stopping. The sight of the battlefield had made clear to Sal that it wasn't just his life at stake, or even the lives of the other members of the company. The cause of this battle was surely the reason for this journey. That meant many other lives would be depending on Sal's actions. Sal wasn't sure he wanted that sort of responsibility, knowing that if he did something wrong people would suffer for it. He wished he had taken the chance King Elessar had offered him and stayed behind in the town.  
  
***  
  
Nothing happened for the next two days. As the rode on, Sal began to feel more afraid. He keep feeling that something was watching them from the trees, but there was nothing there. He noticed the others looking around nervously too. Sal's mind was filled with a fear of something nameless and distant, but growing nearer all the time. Something was going to happen, something terrible.  
  
He tried to dismiss his feelings as ordinary nerves, and didn't speak of them to the others, in case they thought him a coward. Still, the fear remained. He couldn't place the object of his fear, it was just there.  
  
On the morning of the third day, they approached the gates of Mordor over a stony wasteland. Even in the absence of the Enemy, these lands hadn't begun to heal of the wounds of war. A few patches of grass clung desperately to the rocks, but still this place felt dead and empty. The small company approached what was once a fearsome barricade. The great black gates that had once dominated this area had been torn down, and the rocks that had built the battlements were flung about as though a giant hand had torn them from their positions. The gap through Ered Litui, the ash mountains, was open, but somehow that made it terrifying to Sal. He felt certain there was some trap.  
  
Mordor had always been the name of nightmares to him. He had been a boy in the shadow of its fear, and people still spoke the name with dread. It didn't seem right that they would be able to ride right into it. His fear gained a fixed position as he stared at the ruins of the gates, and it lay beyond them.  
  
"Come," the king said quietly, and the company followed him through the gap. Sal's hands trembled as he gripped the reins, but he couldn't leave. He had known he would be coming here when he agreed to leave Ithilien, so he had no choice but to follow his king now. It was what he had said he would do.  
  
The sound of hooves was loud on the stones, and echoed from the cliffs around them as they passed the ruined gates into Mordor. Sal half-expected some force to strike them down as they passed the threshold of the gates, but nothing happened. The horses passed onwards, the riders silent with fear. The halflings looked as terrified as Sal, Legolas looked wary, it was difficult to tell what Gimli was feeling behind his beard, but Sal thought he was afraid too. The king rode ahead, so Sal couldn't see his face. He couldn't imagine the king could ever be afraid, but something about the way he kept looking around at the rocks surrounding them told Sal he was.  
  
Time dragged on, and every moment Sal expected some terrible thing to leap from the rocks. But nothing happened. Loose stones clattered under the horses' hooves. The noise of their passage seemed deafening, but less so than the silence of the rocks around them. Gradually the sun rose higher in the sky, and the king signalled that they should stop to eat.  
  
Sal wasn't hungry. Something about the dead land around them had stolen his appetite. Still, he took the piece of bread he was offered. He didn't eat it, just held it in his hands as he looked around the group. The two halflings started to talk, but there voices sounded foreign and wrong, and so they quickly stopped.  
  
They were journeying along the ruins of a road, that at this point ran along a slope, with a steep rise to one side and a drop on the other. Sal walked slowly away from the company, and looked over the edge of the road. The slope away wasn't too steep, but it was strewn with rocks that could easily conceal an army.  
  
His fears proved unfounded moments later, when the army attacked from the other side of the road. Orcs leaped from the rocks and boulders, charging down on the camp. They must have waited until the company had momentarily let their guard down for this attack. Still, it was only a few seconds, before arrows were flying at the orcs, and King Elessar was striking at the orcs with his sword. Gimli had his axe out, and the two halflings were side by side, swords in hand. Sal drew fortune, but was torn between flight and fight. Two orcs charged towards him, and he swung wildly with fortune, forgetting all his lessons of swordsmanship. He managed to block a blow from one orc, but the other brought a blade round. Sal tried to dodge, but the blade cut across his chest. He cried out, fortune living up to its name as he thrust it into the orc's chest.  
  
Sal had barely pulled fortune free when the surviving orc swung again. With a cry he blocked the blow, then dropped below the swords he charged into the orc's legs. Swinging fortune blindly, not caring if he killed the orc or not, he turned at fled down the slope away from the road.  
  
His chest flared with pain. Each breath caused his wound to feel as though another blade struck it. Blood splattered the ground as he ran, until Sal felt dizzy and weak. There were cries behind them from the ongoing battle, but Sal didn't look back to see who was winning, or even if he was being pursued.  
  
At last the combination of pain and blood-loss was too much. He stumbled on a rock, and fell, unconscious before he hit the ground. His limp body rolled and slid further down the slope among the rocks, adding scrapes and bruises to his injuries. Until at last, he lay still. Alone and injured in the land of Mordor.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Yet another horrible cliffhanger. I'm evil. But then, it's one way to make sure you read the next part. 


	6. Awakenings

Sal woke, his chest throbbing in time to the beating of his heart, each breath tearing at the wound and threatening to reopen it if he breathed too deeply. He wished he could sink back into the blessed oblivion that was unconsciousness, but pulled himself to a sitting position. The movement caused pain to flare through his chest again, and he bit his lip to stop himself crying out.  
  
He looked at the wound through the tear in his shirt. The blade appeared to have slid across a rib, so there was no serious damage, but the cut had bled considerably. There was no red swelling as there had been around the cut on his arm, so he guessed it wasn't poisoned, but he had grave doubts about the cleanliness of the wound.  
  
He then turned his attention outside, and saw that he was lying some distance below the road, shielded from view by boulders and rocks. He had been fortunate.  
  
The thought reminded him, and he looked about urgently for his sword. It lay above him, where he must have dropped it as he fell. Fighting through the pain that obstructed his movements, he crawled to it and picked it up. It was undamaged, but the blade was stained with orc blood. Sal cleaned it as best he could on his shirt, and sheathed it again.  
  
He leaned his back against a rock and closed his eyes, momentarily exhausted by his actions. He had to work out what to do next. He was alone now, with no king to give him orders.  
  
King Elessar! What had happened to the others? Perhaps they had defeated the orcs and were even now looking for him. Or perhaps they had been captured. The thought was worrying, but not so worrying as the third possibility. That they had been victorious, but had carried on their journey without him. Abandoning him as punishment for his cowardliness.  
  
Sal had said he would be willing to die by the king's side, but had proved otherwise. When his life had been in danger, he had fled like the coward he was. What could he do now? He had no food, no supplies, and no hope of finding his way home on his own. Even if he could get home, he was have to admit to what he had done. Shame burned Sal's heart. He had abandoned his companions and thought only of himself.  
  
A new resolve hardened in him. He would find out what had happened to the others. If they were dead, he would seek to avenge them until he too died. If they lived he would beg the king's forgiveness. If they were captured, he would do all he could to rescue them, to make amends for what he had done.  
  
***  
  
Pippin woke slowly, his head throbbing. His wrists ached painfully. Once he cleared his mind of the fog of pain, he realised why. His arms had been tied tightly behind his back. He was somewhere dark, with a tiny amount of light creeping in through a rectangle of thin cracks. He guessed that was the door. With this dim light, he could see he was in a small room. He could see something near him. Something moving.  
  
"Who's there?" Pippin demanded, fearfully. The something jerked, startled.  
  
"Pip?" Pippin recognised the voice.  
  
"Merry?"  
  
"Where are we, Pip?"  
  
"Prisoners of the orcs, I guess."  
  
"It always happens to us, doesn't it?" Pippin smiled at Merry's weak joke.  
  
"Yes, it does," he agreed.  
  
"At least our chances are better this time."  
  
"We did all right last time."  
  
"I know," Merry said, "but this time we won't have to escape on our own. Strider will be able to come and rescue us." As they sat in their dark cell, Pippin didn't voice the fear they were both feeling, that perhaps Strider was in the same situation as they were.  
  
***  
  
Aragorn was roused by having a bucket of dirty water thrown over him. He had only a moment to come to terms with his consciousness when hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forwards. His knees scraped painfully against the rough floor. He tried to pull himself free enough to stand, but the hands gripped tightly, and his wrists were bound behind his back so he couldn't strike them. He fought on as best he could, but for the most part his captors ignored him, dragging him onwards. As he struggled, a pain seared through his left leg. A jerk from his captors jarred it, and pain blossomed like a white-hot fire, blanking out his mind and causing red dots to swim before his eyes. A broken bone, he guessed, once the pain had dimmed enough to let him think.  
  
Resigned that he would not escape, at least not yet, he took in his surroundings. He was being dragged through a tunnel, freshly hewn from the marks on the walls. The two who dragged him were orcs of the same breed as those who had attacked the company. Others walked behind as guards.  
  
The orcs dragged him through a door, and dumped him on the floor of a large room, forcing him to kneel before an empty throne. He leg cried in protest, but there was nothing he could do. The orcs held him down, waiting for something.  
  
Aragorn wondered what had happened to his friends. Were they captives here too? He thought back to the attack. Merry had fallen, struck over the head, and Pippin was either dead or unconscious the last time Aragorn had seen him. Legolas had still be fighting when Aragorn had passed out, as had Gimli. He hadn't been able to see Faramir for the orcs that surrounded them. And as for Salafir.  
  
Aragorn had seen him flee from the battle. It would have been better if he had stayed in Ithilien. He was little more than a boy, and untrained. Aragorn should never have let him come on this quest. If the orcs sent trackers after him, he would have no way to avoid them and no skill to defeat them. He was certain to die, and Aragorn would be the cause.  
  
No. Aragorn berated himself for giving in so soon. There would be some way out of this predicament, and if there wasn't he would make a way. It was not for a Ranger to give in so easily.  
  
There was some hope, for himself as for the other members of the company. He had the hope that Sal had managed to escape the orcs. At least one member of the company was free. That it was Sal gave Aragorn greater hope, since he was certain Sal was the one Galadrial had spoken of.  
  
Aragorn was jerked from his thoughts when the door was flung open, banging against the wall. He turned his head to see a figure, robed in black stride into the room, going to his place on the throne. Aragorn froze. He known this, yet it was still a shock to see. The terror he had been trying to prepare for since he had looked into the Palantir in Minas Tirrith was nothing compared to seeing this now. The face that looked down at him was one he recognised, though the eyes now burned red as though lit by fire from this inside. The expression was one that did not belong on that face, and it made Aragorn feel sick to see it. "Well, Aragorn," the figure spoke, mocking him with his friend's face, "it is a long time since I last saw you." Then he laughed at Aragorn's shock and disgust. Aragorn did not speak. He knew this was merely an illusion. It was not his friend who sat on that throne, looking down on him so scornfully. This man was not Boromir.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I love evil cliffhangers. And remember, if you kill me or even just beat me into a pulp over this one, I won't be able to type up the next part. I thought it would be good to give a slight change of perspective for this chapter, as well as beginning to explain what's happening. Just not why or how. 


	7. Despair

Author's note: Never write a story when in the library with a bored and rather insane friend. I now have an alternative ending to the previous chapter.  
  
The man was not Boromir. It was Angus Deyton in disguise. He needed a job after being sacked to pay for the coke and prostitutes as Arwen had just increased her fee.  
  
***  
  
The climb up to the road was exhausting. It wasn't that far, but Sal's chest was burning with pain. He sank down behind a rock, just below the level of the road to catch his breath. He dared not rest long. He was too exposed, besides, he needed to find out what had happened to the rest of the company.  
  
After a few moments, he raised his head slightly to look over the road edge. There were many orc bodies lying dead, and Merry's pony had fallen with an arrow buried in its side. Sal couldn't see any sign of the company, neither bodies nor living beings. He looked at the orc remains. There were a lot of them, but he was certain there had been more attacking them. Either he had been mistaken through fear, or there were a lot of surviving orcs, which could only mean that the company were prisoners.  
  
He didn't know for sure though. They might have escaped, which would mean searching for them as prisoners would be pointless and stupid. But if they were prisoners, he had to rescue them. Somehow. For a moment, Sal despaired, wondering what good he could possibly do the company, but he pushed the despair aside. He looked around the site of the battle to see if he could discover which way they had gone.  
  
It wasn't hard, since the orcs hadn't taken any effort to disguise their tracks. They had followed the road, which Sal was glad about since he didn't think he was able to cope with any more scrambling up slopes. He set off along the road as fast as he could manage, rather exposed, but there was nothing he could do about that.  
  
He had to rest several times, he chest hurting and his legs feeling as though they were about to collapse under him. He had lost a lot of blood, and wasn't yet recovered. His stomach growled in hunger, and he wished he'd eaten that bread while he'd had the chance. He wondered where it was, no doubt lying in the dirt somewhere covered in filth. He desperately wanted a drink too, but he hadn't any water either, and it didn't look like there was any in this lifeless land.  
  
Continuing on, he approached a bend in the road and cautiously peered round the edge. What he saw sent despair running straight to his heart. He saw a great door of iron set in the slope. Before it stood twenty orcs. There were thin cracks above the door, which Sal guessed were for archers to shoot through. Their stronghold must be underground, and there was no way Sal would be able to get in through that door.  
  
He sank down onto the ground and wept. He remembered the kindness in the king's face as he tended to Sal's arm. He remembered the mercy he had shown, offering to allow him to return home, despite what he had done. The great king of Gondor was a prisoner behind those doors and Sal could not get to him. What hope had he? What hope had any of them?  
  
***  
  
Aragorn could not hold back the cry of pain as the whip struck his back again. He heard the laugh, and looked into the face, once fair, that was now filled with cruelty and malice.  
  
"Do you not remember who you were?" he asked.  
  
The man who was not Boromir laughed again. "Your friend is dead." The whip struck again, laying fire across his back, and Aragorn screamed. He didn't know which was the greater torture, the pain, or seeing Boromir possessed by this thing.  
  
"He had a weak mind," the man said, "and gave in easily to my leadership. Now his mind is utterly destroyed. You can never get him back."  
  
"Then at least he cannot see what you are using his body for," Aragorn said, defiant as ever. He didn't know how much of what the man had said was true, but he did hope that Boromir was dead, and not just a slave to the will of another.  
  
The whip struck again, but this time Aragorn managed to hold back his cry. The fire in the man's eyes blazed with anger, and the orc brandishing the whip struck again, harder. His back burned, and the whip seemed to be cutting into his nerves. Each strike of the whip made the fire blaze brighter and there seemed to sign of it stopping. He gritted his teeth and stared at the floor, knowing it could not continue forever. Knowing that it must stop at some point. Red dots swam before his eyes and darkness seemed to be closing in around him. He would collapse soon, the next blow pushing him into unconsciousness.  
  
Then the whip stopped falling.  
  
"Do you think I would let you escape that easily?" The voice seemed to be coming from very far away. "I'll not have you lose consciousness and ruin my amusement."  
  
Cold water hit Aragorn, and his back stung. He came to full consciousness again, but he could not cope with much more of this. Fortunately, there was no more whip, for now at least, but the pain still burned in his back.  
  
"Why did you come here? Did you think you would find your friend?" The man's voice was filled with scorn and Aragorn did not answer. He had partly guessed the truth, and it was better he thought that was all there was to it.  
  
"You are foolish, Aragorn, as you always were. You walked into my arms once before and you have done so again." Aragorn again said nothing. He didn't want to show how much the man had already revealed to him. He now knew the name of the thing that possessed Boromir's body.  
  
"You will pay for your foolishness with suffering. I hope it gives you some comfort to know that you will live far longer than your companions, though they too must be punished for the foolishness in following you." Aragorn listened carefully as the taunts continued, hoping they would reveal something more of use.  
  
Eventually, the man seemed to realise that he would get no satisfaction out of Aragorn this way, and he could not torture him more without risking his death. So he decided to change his methods. Aragorn heard the door open, and turned his head as the man said, "I'm so glad you could join us."  
  
Merry and Pippin were led in by orcs, tied tightly as Aragorn was. He could see the shock as they saw Boromir, his eyes burning red. The sorrow and fear that showed on their faces was the same that was in Aragorn. They were moved by the orcs to stand in front of Aragorn, so he couldn't help seeing.  
  
The orc used his whip against first one then the other. Pippin fell to his knees after the third blow, unable to stand, and Merry fell soon after. Yet still the whip cracked and struck them. Aragorn closed his eyes, but couldn't close his ears to the screams.  
  
When the hobbits fell silent, the whip still cracked. Aragorn opened his eyes to see the two now unconscious, the orc beating their still forms. His vision blurred with tears, he turned aside.  
  
"Stop," the man called, "they must not die yet." The whip stopped. "There are other's who we can use while these two recover." He laughed again, and Aragorn despaired. This would continue with each member of the company, until their bodies could take no more and they died.  
  
But hope didn't die in him completely. There was still Salafir to consider. He had escaped the jaws of this trap, and Aragorn remembered the words Galadrial had spoken to him before she went west across the sea.  
  
"Fortune will cling to him as a cloak," she had said, "and he shall wield it as a sword." He knew those words spoke of Salafir, and so he had hope, even as Legolas was brought in and the torture began again.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I thought it was about time I gave some reason why Aragorn let Sal be part of the quest. You'll have to wait for the rest of the reason though. 


	8. A Way In

Sal pulled himself to his feet and walked back along the road, away from the door, drying his tears with a dirty hand. There had to be some other way in. He would find it. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he turned and began to climb the slope. He had to find a way.  
  
He collapsed twice as he climbed, lying on the ground, waiting for the pain to subside. He had no idea how long he had been here, as the sky was obscured by cloud so thick it made it as dark as night. The stony slope was barren, leaving Sal afraid that the great door was the only way in. He was almost ready to give up and wait for death to find him, when he saw a metal tube rising from the ground.  
  
Sal went closer, despite the foul air that was rising from the tube. Of course! Orcs would need to breathe as much as any other creature. The tube must be to let cleaner air down into the underground. place. Sal wasn't sure what exactly it was that was below him.  
  
He looked at the tube, which was far too narrow for him to fit through, and wondered exactly how he was supposed to get down. He knew now that there were other ways in, but for him they were as impossible as the main entrance.  
  
He sat down next to the tube, staring at it in some dim hope that it would give him inspiration. Moments passed and turned into minutes, and still he sat there. He doubted that there were any larger air tubes, even if he could be fortunate enough to find another. Besides, he wasn't strong enough to cope with the search for more. He had to find some way of getting down here, or else try to find a way through the gate.  
  
He briefly considered just charging at the gate. He would die, but at least he would have the chance of killing some of those foul orcs. He would die in the service of his king, but he would have no hope of helping him.  
  
Suddenly, Sal heard voices. His first instinct was to draw fortune, looking round for the approaching enemy. It took him a few moments to realise that the voices were actually coming up the tube beside him.  
  
"Won't last very long, these two," one voice said, harsh and cruel. Undoubtedly an orc.  
  
"There's still a bit of fun left in them," another said.  
  
"Not the rate the master wants to use them. They'll be dead in days."  
  
"The others'll last longer. The master wants that man alive. There'll be some months of fun in him." The voices became fainter, and Sal sat by the tube, hands shaking at the thought of their words.  
  
The man they had spoken of must be King Elessar. The others were probably the other members of the company. Sal couldn't imagine what terrible things were being done to them, but knew he didn't have long. He had to find some way to get down there and soon, otherwise the members of the company would die.  
  
He scratched at the rocky ground around the tube, trying to dig it free, hoping to make a large enough hole for him to fit through. He scraped his hands raw, but the dry rocks didn't want to move, and it was a long time before he had made even a small hole. It would take an age to dig down at this rate, and he didn't even know how far he had to dig. The flow of air through the tube could have distorted his hearing and made the orcs seem close when they were really a long way down. He came to a large rock embedded in the soil, that he couldn't move with his hands. He needed a tool to dig with.  
  
He took up fortune and, wishing he could put the king's gift to a better use, pushed the point of the blade under the edge of the rock. Leaning his weight on the hilt, he levered the rock lose, moving it with his free hand. And so he continued downwards, scraping with his hands where possible and using fortune where he needed.  
  
When the hole was growing deeper, he stopped to rest. He put a hand to his sore chest, and found it coming away coated with fresh blood. He must have torn open the wound when digging. Trying not to breathe too deeply in case he did more damage, he leaned on the tube. He would rest only moments. There was no sign he was even close to reaching the underground base, and he didn't have much time.  
  
Suddenly the tube shifted slightly under his weight. He sat up quickly, the pain in his chest instantly making him regret the sudden movement. Once it had subsided enough for him to think about moving again, he pushed against the tube. It shifted again. The relief was intoxicating. A moment before he had no hope, and now it seemed there was a chance.  
  
He pushed the tube, then pulled, then pushed again. Each time the tube moved slightly more, loosening in its place. Then, without warning, the ground beneath Sal gave way. He felt in shift and then suddenly there was nothing beneath him. But that lasted only a moment, then he hit the ground his chest wound flaring with unimaginable pain. The tube fell with a clang on the stones, but Sal was only aware of the pain that seemed to be spreading through his veins into the rest of his body. His breath came in short gasps, each one seeming to tear his lungs apart.  
  
But the pain faded, and he became aware of the urgent need to get out of this place. Someone would surely have heard the sound of his entry, and there would be orcs here soon. He was certainly in no condition to fight anyone or anything. He picked himself up painfully and retrieved fortune from the mass of rubble surrounding him. The sword appeared undamaged, for which Sal was grateful. He would need a weapon in this place, besides, the king had only said he might use fortune, he hadn't given it to him.  
  
Now that he had a chance to look round him, he saw he was in a tunnel, lit dimly by torches burning at far intervals. It was long, and there were doors leading off it. Sal picked a direction at random and set off, taking a torch from the wall so he could see better.  
  
The doors he passed were made of heavy wood, and all locked. Sal didn't stand a chance of forcing any of them, and he had no way of knowing what was behind them. So he walked passed them, knowing that the members of the company could be locked behind them dying. He had as much chance of rescuing them now as he did when outside. But at least he was doing something.  
  
He turned a corner and continued down an identical tunnel, again trying doors as he passed. To his surprise, one opened. He almost fell through it, not expecting the movement. He stood for a moment, uncertain as to whether he should go through or not, when the sound of approaching feet made up his mind. The orcs had come to investigate the noise.  
  
He went through, closing the door behind him and shutting out the sound of boots on stone. He was in another tunnel, but this one was better lit. It sloped downwards slightly, then turned into a staircase. He guessed this part of the base was used by more important people. things than the part. He guessed, or rather hoped, that it was where important prisoners would be kept. He began to make his way slowly down the stairs, when he heard the door he had come through open, and the harsh voices of orcs.  
  
He ran, hurrying down the last few steps. His chest screamed in agony, but he had no choice. He made it most of the way down before he stumbled, and fell the last few steps. The torch dropped from his hand and extinguished itself on the stone. He could hear the orcs getting closer behind him, and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain.  
  
He tried to run on, but his body wasn't up to it. He was tired, injured and weak, in no condition to flee like this. His lungs cried for air, but he couldn't breathe deeply without causing more pain. He turned a corner, out of sight from the orcs. Running without caring where he was going. All he could think of was getting away.  
  
As he slowed for a moment at a juncture between two tunnels, someone leapt out of a nearby door. Before he knew what was happening, strong arms held Sal, and a hand pressed over his mouth. He was pulled through the door and engulfed in the darkness behind it.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: I love evil cliffhangers, but you've probably worked that out by now. I will write the next chapter soon, if only to avoid what you'll do to me if I don't. 


	9. Fortune's Stroke

Author's note: Sorry for the slight delay, real life doesn't understand the importance of giving me time to write. And the muses are bugging me to write my novel.  
  
***  
  
Sal struggled, trying to pull himself free, which only served to aggravate his chest. The arms still held him tightly, but not cruelly so.  
  
"Sshh," a voice whispered softly in his ear, "do not be afraid." Sal recognised the voice, and relaxed slightly, but the instruction not to be afraid was a rather difficult one to obey. The arms still held him, but the hand shifted from his mouth. They stood in the darkness, as beyond the door orc-feet charged past.  
  
When finally all had fallen silent, the arms released Sal and he felt the person move passed him. The door was pulled open slightly and in the little light the crack allowed, Sal could see Faramir, looking cautiously out.  
  
"It appears to be clear," he said, before pulling the door open completely. He went first into the tunnel, the motioned that it was safe for Sal to follow.  
  
"I thought you managed to get free during the battle," Faramir said.  
  
"I came back," Sal replied.  
  
"Brave of you," he commented. Sal almost glowed from this praise. He didn't feel very brave though, especially not when compared to someone like Faramir. He felt his actions in the battle had shown him to be the complete opposite.  
  
"How is it that you're free?" Sal asked.  
  
"I hadn't been tied properly. The orcs came into the cell I was in and I pretended to be unconscious. I fought my way free and have been trying to find out where the others of the company are. I was surprised to see you." Sal told him what he had done since the battle, and what he had overheard the orcs saying.  
  
"That does not help us find them," Faramir said when he heard, looking as worried as Sal felt. Together they set off down the tunnel away from the stairs. Sal struggled to keep up with the pace Faramir set, but didn't say anything as he didn't want this great captain of Gondor to think him weak. Faramir noticed though.  
  
"You're hurt?" Sal nodded. He lifted his shirt so that Faramir could see. He touched the wound, causing Sal to gasp in pain.  
  
"I am no healer," Faramir said, "but I think you will live." They went on again, this time slower.  
  
Sal hoped Faramir knew where they were going, after they had taken countless turnings and passed through many doors. Every now and then they had to hide from passing orcs, but so far they had met no challenge.  
  
The tunnels they were travelling through appeared new. At least, the floor hadn't yet been worn smooth by passing feet. Sal kept fortune in his hand, and Faramir held an orc sword. The cool hilt of fortune gave Sal very little comfort, but he was armed, and the orcs wouldn't know how hurt he was. The dirt on his shirt masked the blood that had stained it.  
  
At last they reached a place that was better guarded than the rest of the tunnels. There was a large door, in front of which four orc guards stood. Both took their turn to look, and Sal wanted nothing more than to get away.  
  
Then the screaming began.  
  
There was no doubt the screams were coming from beyond that door. Sal glanced at Faramir and saw fear quickly replaced by determination.  
  
"Can you fight?" he asked Sal in a whisper. Sal nodded, uncertain that he was, but knowing he had to try. It could be King Elessar who was screaming.  
  
With a cry, Faramir charged round the corner, Sal in his wake. The orcs barely had time to react before they were overwhelmed in the assault. Faramir fought fiercely, and Sal could only try not to get hurt, as the orcs attacked the pair of humans. Fortune lived up to its name as Sal defended himself with lucky strokes, until Faramir could kill the last of the orcs.  
  
The battle lasted only moments before the orcs were dead. Sal thought that he might have torn his wound open again, but he had no new injuries. Faramir gave Sal a quick glance, then flung the door open. They ran into the room, Sal only having time for a quick look round the room. The king and the elf were both bound and kneeling on the floor, more orcs standing guard over them. A figure sat on a throne overlooking the room.  
  
Faramir had stopped, staring at the enthroned figure, but Sal didn't notice. He ran at one of the orcs, fortune raised in the attack. He didn't see the other orc raising the whip, until the end curled around his legs. Sal cried out, his legs caught by the whip. He fell to the ground, landing heavily on his chest. He only had a moment to take this in, before he slipped into unconsciousness from the pain.  
  
***  
  
He awoke to find little had changed. He lay on the floor unnoticed. He was careful not to move, in case they noticed that he was conscious again, but looked round the room. The king and Legolas were still bound on the floor, but Legolas looked ready to spring up. The attention of everyone in the room was on Faramir, now held by two orcs, and the figure, who now stood in front of him. The figure's back was to Sal, and he was close to him. The other orcs were further away. If Sal struck quickly they wouldn't have time to react.  
  
Slowly, so as not to attract attention, he shifted his hand closer to the hilt of fortune that lay within reach. Moments passing, and he didn't dare come closer.  
  
"Please, you have to remember," Faramir was saying. Sal saw now that he was crying.  
  
"There is nothing to remember," the figure spat. Sal's hand crept closer to fortune.  
  
"Please," Faramir begged. Sal wondered what was going on, but still his hand inched towards the sword.  
  
"Beg all you like, you cannot change what is." The figure seemed to be taking delight in Faramir's obvious pain.  
  
"Things shouldn't be this way." Sal's hand found the sword's hilt and closed around it. At that moment, an orc saw the movement and gave a shout. Sal was on his feet in the moment, thrusting fortune into the heart of the man as he turned to see what was happening.  
  
"NO!" Faramir yelled. But Sal didn't have time to see what was happening with him. He turned his attack against the orcs, as Legolas leapt to his feet, fighting as well as he was able with his hand bound behind his back.  
  
They came through victorious, but Sal now had a deep gash in his leg. He limped over to the king and freed his arms, finally having time to look round. Faramir was kneeling over the man's body, weeping. Sal didn't understand why he would do this, after what he had just seen and heard. But he saw the similarity between Faramir and the man he had killed, and turned to the king for an answer.  
  
"What. why." he wasn't sure how to ask the question, but the king answered anyway.  
  
"He was Boromir," the king said, "he was Faramir's brother."  
  
***  
  
Author's note: Not quite as good a cliffhanger as the last few, but I'm sure you don't mind about that. 


	10. The Aftermath

"I'm sorry," Sal said for what seemed like the hundredth time. Faramir continued to stare into the fire. There was a depressed atmosphere over the camp. Merry and Pippin were talking quietly, Gimli and Legolas sat together in silence, King Elessar sat at Faramir's side, with Sal on the opposite side of the fire, feeling isolated and guilty. He shouldn't have acted without first finding out what was going on. He had killed Boromir because he hadn't thought.  
  
There had to have been some other way. King Elessar must have had a plan, if he had just waited everything would have ended up all right. Guilt clawed at Sal's heart, and he kept looking back to what had happened, trying to see a way he could have acted differently.  
  
But there was a thought nagging at his mind. Hadn't Boromir died in the war of the ring? He sighed and stared into the dancing flames. Their escape had been relatively easy. It was as if the orcs had lost their courage when Sal had struck down Boromir. But Sal felt guilty when he thought of that, knowing it was wrong to think of the good that came of a death.  
  
The company sat in silence for a while, with even Merry and Pippin going quiet. The silence was broken by King Elessar standing up.  
  
"Come," he beckoned Sal away from the camp. Most of the others looked up curiously, but remained silent, each thinking their own thoughts. Sal stood, and followed the king into the shadows beyond the reach of the fire. He was able to walk steadily, the king having bound up the gash in his leg along with the chest wound, but it was still painful.  
  
They were only a short distance from the others when the king sat on a rock, gesturing for Sal to sit beside him.  
  
"You did what you had to do," the king said quietly, "Faramir knows that too, in his heart, but still he grieves."  
  
"I thought Boromir died in the war."  
  
"So did we. I saw his body dead, his spirit gone. Somehow, Sauron was able to return, taking Boromir's body."  
  
Sal shuddered. "How?"  
  
"I don't know. Before he died, the ring of power was beginning to control Boromir. He was strong, but the ring found a way into his heart. Somehow, Sauron was able to use that, and with Boromir's spirit gone, there was no one to resist his control."  
  
"So Sauron's really dead now?"  
  
"I hope so. But he came back when we all thought him gone, there is a chance it will happen again." The king stopped, thinking deeply before speaking again. "Boromir died in the war, and Faramir knows that. Yet still it is to him as though he has lost his brother twice. He understands why you acted as you did."  
  
"So, I didn't really kill Boromir? There wasn't anything left of him?"  
  
"I don't know. But what I do know is that if there was anything of Boromir left, being a slave to Sauron in this way was the worst torture that could possibly happen to him. If there was something of the good man I knew left, you set him free."  
  
Sal thought about this, gaining comfort from the king's words. He wished though that he hadn't had to hurt Faramir to save them. He also wished he could know for certain if he had killed Boromir, or just a thing using his body.  
  
"May I ask you something?" he asked at last.  
  
"You just did." Sal managed a smile at that.  
  
"Why did you bring me on this journey?"  
  
"I knew that someone would have to kill Boromir in order to kill Sauron. I also knew that I wouldn't be able to do this. Nor would any member of the fellowship. We all knew Boromir as he was before. I needed someone to come who didn't know Boromir, who would be able to do what was necessary as we could not."  
  
"But why me? Surely there were others better suited?"  
  
"Perhaps. But you showed courage. You had the courage to face death on your feet, no begging or crying. The only thing you begged, was that I didn't punish your friend." Sal thought about his actions and tried to see what the king was saying. He hadn't thought about his actions that way. "I thought you would be useful, as someone trying to atone for a foolish action would try far harder than any other."  
  
Sal thought about this too. Perhaps the king was right. Certainly he had been so desperate to find a way into the tunnels because he was trying to make up for running away. He might have given up on seeing the gates if he hadn't been so desperate to prove himself. But there was the matter of the sword.  
  
"There's something I don't understand. I wanted your hair as a token of fortune, and you gave me a sword named fortune with a hair set in it."  
  
King Elessar smiled. "The elf queen Galadrial was a prophetess. Before she departed for the west, she told me to forge this sword. She said one would ask for a hair as a token of fortune, and that the sword was meant for him. She also told me I was not to give it you, you would take it when you needed it and with it you would save my life."  
  
"Then the sword really was made for me?"  
  
"Wield it well." Sal smiled, happy for the first time since this whole business had begun. The king had shown him mercy and favour. He would return home in honour, not as a traitor.  
  
"There is one more thing," the king said, "if you are to wield so fine a sword, you need to have the skills to equal the strength of the sword. I offer you the chance to train with me, as well as with the leaders of our army. And once your training is complete, you may serve me as a personal guard, if you wish." Sal couldn't believe what he was being offered. Those who served as personal guard had the highest honour of all the soldiers of Gondor.  
  
"Me?" he asked incredulously.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"But. I. Only the best are chosen to be personal guards!"  
  
"May I assume that that is a yes?"  
  
"Yes!" he replied excitedly. King Elessar grinned at his excitement, before standing up and preparing to return to the others. Once they had sat down once more, the king spoke to the company as a whole.  
  
"I want each of you to give me your word that you will mention this to no one. No history will record our actions here, and no song will be written about it. None of you are to mention this to anyone." Merry was about to speak, but the king cut off his question before he asked it. "Not even Sam, Merry."  
  
"Why?" Gimli asked.  
  
"Because Boromir was a good man. If this tale is told, his name will be blackened irreparably. No one will understand the evil power that he faced, or believe that it couldn't be resisted. If people learn of this, they will believe that he was either weak or a traitor, and he was neither." Sal could understand this, and though he wanted to go home telling everyone of how he had saved the life of the king, he accepted that he could not.  
  
He gave his oath, and the others did in turn. Faramir didn't swear, and the king did not ask him to. Sal supposed that he would want to tell anyone anyway.  
  
"Thank you," Faramir said quietly, speaking for the first time since leaving the enemy tunnels.  
  
"He was a good man," King Elessar said, "and a good friend. I owe it to his memory that no one doubts that." Sal looked with great respect at the king. Everyone knew of his actions during the war, and there were hundreds of rumours about his past, but Sal had never had the chance to see his wisdom and mercy first hand. Sal might not go home a hero, but it was fair price to ensure a good man's memory stayed pure. Besides, he had been more fortunate than he had believed possible on the outset. He couldn't complain.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: It's not quite finished yet. Don't forget they've still got to get home. The next chapter will be up soon. 


	11. A Silver Tree

Author's note: I said the next chapter would be soon. Enjoy.  
  
***  
  
The journey back to Minas Tirith was uneventful. They walked back to Ithilien, and there they had left Faramir. They had to work to repair the damage the orcs had done during their brief return. But he gave them horses to speed their journey. The company passed onwards, and managed to forget their pain. Merry and Pippin were soon talking and laughing cheerfully again, and their happiness soon began to infect the others. By the time they reached the gates of Minas Tirith, the wounds the last few days had put in their hearts were healing well. Sal only wished the wounds of his body were healing as quickly. His leg was sore, and the riding hadn't done anything to help it, and his chest throbbed painfully with each breath. The king had done all he could to heal him, but the body takes time to repair itself, no matter how good the healer may be.  
  
Still, they were a cheerful party when they passed through the gates of Minas Tirith and rode towards the citadel in the centre. The people in the streets looked at them curiously, surprised to see the mix of elf, dwarf and halfling.  
  
Suddenly Sal noticed Bergil, watching from the doorway of a house. He looked at Sal for a moment, and then looked away. Then they had passed him. Sal realised how little he had thought of Bergil since this business began. Bergil must have been so worried, not knowing what had happened to him. Sal hoped he hadn't been feeling too guilty about it.  
  
They came shortly to the stables, and dismounted. Sal wanted to go and find Bergil, but knew he couldn't leave without the king's permission. When the king noticed him shifting impatiently from foot to foot he laughed.  
  
"Go, if you must," he said, "but you are to come to the Tower of Ecthelion at sunset, your parents too." Then the king smiled as another idea struck him, "Your friend Bergil can come too if he wishes." Sal knew he was planning something, but it wasn't wise to ask. He supposed he would find out soon enough, so he ran back through to city to his home.  
  
His mother hugged him as soon as he came in.  
  
"We were afraid for you?" she said.  
  
"I'm all right," he said.  
  
His father didn't say much, but that was normal. He put his hand on Sal's shoulder and smiled. That told Sal everything he needed to know.  
  
Suddenly the door opened, and Bergil rushed in without even knocking. He flung his arms round Sal, rather too tightly. Sal let out a gasp of pain, and Bergil backed away quickly.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said concerned, then repeated, "I'm sorry." Sal knew what the other thing was he was sorry about.  
  
"Don't be," Sal said, "I'm all right."  
  
"What happened?" Bergil asked.  
  
"I gave my oath to the king that I wouldn't tell anyone."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because he decided it was for the best." Sal turned to his parents. "He says we are to go to the Tower of Ecthelion at sunset. And you, Bergil."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"I don't know. I didn't dare ask him." Bergil looked puzzled and a little afraid. Sal wondered about telling him he would be all right, but decided to get revenge for his teasing by letting him worry.  
  
***  
  
As the sun set, the tower shone like a red flame. Lords and nobles of Gondor were gathered in the throne room. Bergil and Sal's parents were among them, watching. Sal stood with Merry, Pippin, Legolas and Gimli in front of the throne where King Elessar sat.  
  
"There are people in history who have done much to serve Gondor, and yet gain little from it," the king said. "Therefore, from today, those who do a great service to Gondor and her king, will receive a token which they may where with honour, whatever race they may be. I award this token to those who have done much for the sake of this city and her people." He called out the names of the four members of the fellowship in turn, and they stepped up to the throne, returning to their places with something silver pinned to their chests.  
  
"Salafir," the king called finally. Sal could imagine the surprise on Bergil's face as he walked up to the throne. The king smiled and pinned to his chest a silver broach, shaped like the white tree of Gondor.  
  
"Remember," the king said in a low voice, "if the truth cannot be told, rumour will create a deed even Frodo Baggins could not have done." Sal smiled back at him, then turned and walked back to his place in the line. He looked over at where Bergil stood, open-mouthed in shock. Together, the five faced those who had gathered, and stood as their names were cheered by the people of Gondor. Sal saw his parents beaming with pride, and smiled so widely he thought his mouth might split. Only a few days ago he had been afraid of being executed as a traitor. Now he stood before the people of Gondor as a hero.  
  
***  
  
Author's note: A nice happy ending for you all. This is the final chapter, but there will be a sequel. Don't worry about that. 


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